Mystic Angel
by Sybl Angelkat
Summary: What if Christine was the Phantom and Erik was the Opera Star? What might have changed? My biggest fanfiction challenge yet...
1. Chapter 1

Mystic Angel

Mystic Angel

Author's Note: What would happen if the Opera Ghost and the Opera Star were reversed? My biggest fanfiction challenge yet, I swapped the places of Christine and Erik (and Raoul is now a woman character named Regine, which translates to "queen" ). Please try not to flame me if you don't care for the story; it's only a challenge to myself to see if I can pull this off. The settings are from the 2004 movie. Please Review!!

Prologue:

The carriage seemed as though it were never going to stop. The horses plodded along tiredly as they had been doing for a very long time. The driver slumped in his seat and took a long draw from the silver whiskey bottle he held nest to him. The morning was dark, cold, and damp. The low gray-blue clouds were icy-looking and promised snow for sure.

Inside the carriage was a young boy. He lay stretched across the cushioned seat, not heeding the change of scenery in the slightest. Beside him was a small black suitcase that contained his few worldly possessions. His face was pale, no longer ruddy from his constant crying, but his hair was mussed, there were still tear tracks on his cheeks, and his nose needed a handkerchief. At one point, he'd been sitting stick-straight, knowing that he would be scolded by someone if his nice clothes got rumpled, but he was tired and the journey was long and tedious.

The carriage driver slowed his horses as they approached the formidable Paris Opera House. The driver slid off of his perch, staggering slightly from the liquor that coursed through his veins and went to wake the boy.

"Erik, boy, wake up! You're here!"

Erik sat up and rubbed his eyes. They felt painful and scratchy from all the crying he'd done. He really missed his father; he'd never known his mother. She'd died in childbirth, so his father, the best violinist in Sweden, had given up everything to raise him. The two of them had been inseparable and Erik's father had taught him everything he knew about music. Now, he felt so alone in the world that it hurt.

Staggering behind the driver, who grudgingly carried his suitcase inside, Erik blinked the sleep out of his eyes and tried to get a look around. His soft golden eyes were still bloodshot from the crying and the weather did nothing for his mood. He sighed, trying to brush his dark hair out of his pale face. Then, he finally began to examine his surroundings and his mouth dropped open in shock. Velvet draperies flowed like rich rivers around the large windows in the giant lobby. Luxurious-looking couches and chairs soft enough for a rich man's bed stood over the tiled floor. Statues of golden women with cloth draped over them stood everywhere and candelabras flickered all over the place. The whole place had an air of mystery to it.

A serious-looking woman with a cane and a somber black dress descended the stairs. Behind her, a golden-haired girl with dark eyes followed. She was wearing a ballet costume.

"Madame Giry, I presume," the driver said, hiccupping slightly, "I've delivered the boy, Madame, and my obligations are complete."

She looked at him disapprovingly before stuffing a few francs into his hand. He wobbled away, counting the bills greedily.

"Hello, Erik. I am Madame Antoinette Giry, a dear friend of your father's. This is my daughter, Marguerite, but she also goes by Meg for short."

Meg curtsied as much as a ballet costume would allow. Erik tipped his head in a bow, but he didn't feel like doing any more than that.

"Do you know why you are here?" Madame Giry asked, picking up Erik's suitcase where the driver had discarded it on the floor.

"Yes, Madame."

Erik's father had once told him that he would be sent to Paris when he was old enough. There, he would study music at the finest Opera House that Paris had to offer. Erik had been overjoyed to find that out, ignoring the other boys who had said he was a sissy for loving music. One thing in particular had stuck out to him, however.

_"Erik, come in here," his father's voice had choked out between the vicious-sounding coughs, "I need to tell you something."_

_Erik obeyed, clutching at his teddy bear very nervously. _

_"You can't go through life not knowing the truth. As much as it pains me, I know that I'm not going to last much longer."_

_Erik's eyes widened as his father started into another coughing fit. This time, blood came up, staining his once nimble fingers. Not wanting to frighten the boy, he wiped them clean as fast as he could._

_"I want you to know that you'll still be sent to Paris no matter what happens to me. I want you to have a future doing what you're good at. And when I am in Heaven, I will send an angel to watch over you; an angel of music."_

Erik sighed. He wondered when that angel was supposed to come. Where had the angel been when he'd been crying over his father's battered and broken body? Where had the angel been when his good-for-nothing uncle had come to escort him to Paris and had drank every step of the way there? Where had the angel been when he'd rode all those lonely hours in the carriage?

Madame Giry had led him up the stairs.

"You may stay in here," she said, "and you can go anywhere in the Opera House you want as long as you stay out of everyone's way. Don't do anything you know is dangerous and don't go down below the first cellar. There are rats and traps and other terrible things down there that could harm a boy. We will start your training tomorrow."

Erik nodded slowly.

"Don't be sad, Erik!" Meg piped up as soon as her mother had gone. She got on Erik's new bed and bounced around.

"It's going to be fun! You and me are going to be best friends!"

Despite Erik's grief and current belief that girls weren't any fun to play with, he couldn't help but smile.

After dinner and a bath (which he hadn't been crazy about), Erik was laying wide awake in his bed. He couldn't sleep. He knew that when he closed his eyes, dreams of his father would haunt him. He sighed and slipped from beneath the covers. It was freezing out here, but he ignored the cold as much as an eight-year-old boy could and ventured out of his room. The Opera House was big, but it seemed even bigger in the dark.

Erik happened to pass a room where the candles were still lit. Maybe there was someone still awake that he could talk to. Cautiously, he entered the room.

To his dismay, there was no one there. He saw a candle holder with a few candles flickering in it. Behind them, there was a picture of an angel.

Erik stared hard at the angel for a moment. His father once told him that praying was like talking to God and sometimes God talked back. Erik wondered if he was wrong to be mad at God for letting his father die.

"I wish my father would come back," Erik finally said, "I miss him. Why didn't you let him live? Why didn't you send me an angel? Father said you were there for everybody, but I have yet to see you. Father said you loved me, but I don't think you do sometimes. Where's my angel?"

Suddenly, a draft of wind blew out the candles.

"Who- who's there?" Erik asked timidly.

Only silence answered. He suddenly felt very frightened and willed himself not to cry again even though the tears were threatening to well up. A strange sound filled the air, seeming to echo. At first, Erik was scared to death, his lungs tightening in his chest. His legs turned to water and he wanted to run, but he couldn't get the thought to reach his legs.

"Hello, Erik," a voice whispered.

Erik frowned. The voice sounded...female.

"Are you a ghost?" Erik asked, looking around. He could see no one.

"I am not a ghost," the voice answered, a hint of amusement in it, "but I am not truly living, either."

Erik could only come to one conclusion.

"Are you the angel my father talked about?"

There was a moment's hesitation.

"I suppose you could call me that," the voice said.

Erik sighed a little. Whoever, or whatever she was, she didn't sound like she would hurt him.

"Are you the angel of music, then?" he asked, his expression brightening a little bit.

"I am the Angel of Music," the voice answered, "and I have come to watch over you. Bu you must do everything I say without question, are we clear?"

Erik nodded.

"Good. Come here each morning before dawn. And you will speak of this to no one, understood?"

He nodded again.

"Good. Now, go back to your bed and go to sleep. If you catch cold, your voice will suffer."

Erik turned and ran out of the room. At first, it was hard to sleep because he was shivering so much, whether from excitement or cold, he didn't know. Eventually, he fell into an untroubled sleep. His angel was here now and that's all that mattered.

Chapter 1...20 years later

Christine stretched out luxuriously in her large sleigh-style bed. Her black and red Gothic style dress fanned out around her and she closed her eyes. A white half-mask covered the right side of her face. She ran her fingers through her chocolate-colored curls and sighed. She wasn't old, not in the conventional sense, but she wasn't getting any younger and she knew it. Her childbearing years would soon be at an end, yet she was afraid that she would end up alone.

And now, she was frustrated because something very ominous and dangerous was in the air. She wondered why; things were going very well right now. The next opera rehearsals were near flawless and she'd cut a backdrop loose to fall on Madame Carlotta. Carlotta had stormed off of the stage in a huff, furious about it. There were new managers, Andre and Firmin, and they needed to know who they were dealing with. After frightening Carlotta, she'd tossed a note down for Madame Giry to read. The note was only what she expected them to do: leave Box 5 open and pay her 20,000 franc salary. It was so simple that even these two buffoons couldn't mess it up!

Then, as she'd crouched in the rafters, reveling in the fear she'd instilled in her staff, she'd noticed something that she was surprised she'd never noticed before.

Erik, who'd been at the edge of the ensemble in the back, was urged forward by Madame Giry's daughter. Madame Giry had noticed that just as the managers were bemoaning the loss of their "star". Christine merely rolled her eyes; she wondered why she hadn't tried to sack Carlotta altogether.

"Erik Destler could sing it, sir," Madame suggested, "he has been taking lessons from a wonderful tutor."

"Who from?" the reply shot back. Yes, these two fools would be tough to get around. Christine gritted her teeth, frowning at them even though they couldn't see her in the rafters.

"I do not know his name, sir," Erik said. He knew full well by her voice that his teacher was female, but if he gave that away, he would be laughed right off this stage.

"Ah, very well. Let's see what you can do with the aria in the third act."

The pianist began to play and Erik began to sing softly. His rich tenor rang out through the room and captivated all who heard him. Christine grinned from the rafters.

He had the voice of an angel. And now that he had her full attention in the daylight, she studied him more closely. He was lean, but muscular with an athletic build. She supposed it was from the dancing. His features had gotten inherently more masculine every day and now, he had a strong jaw. sweet full lips, a perfect nose, and lovely eyes. Those eyes held a determination and intensity that were simply captivating; yet they also held innocence. She'd gazed directly into his golden eyes many time without him knowing.

_His eyes match the color of his soul,_ she'd thought breathlessly, _that's so beautiful. He's beautiful._

Christine's heart began to pound as she watched him. Yes, Erik would be destined for some very big things. With her help, there was no telling how far he'd progress. He was far above this ragtag crowd in both talent and spirit. She felt a swell of pride when she remembered that his voice belonged to her.

The crowd was standing speechless. There was no question that he now had the part. After all, this particular aria wasn't gender-specific and they could simply adjust the key.

Satisfied with that, she'd come down here to get some rest. Tomorrow would be Erik's big day. It would also be hers in some strange sense.

But Christine could not sleep. Maybe a cup of hot tea would soothe her frazzled nerves. She got up to get some chamomile and paused by the mirror. Touching the white mask that covered the right side of her face, she sighed. She couldn't stand seeing the mask, but she hated what was beneath it even more. It was what had prevented her from showing herself to Erik during the last ten years. How could someone as talented and handsome as he ever love a monster like her? She sighed again and went to get her tea. As soon as she'd drank it, she stretched out and got into bed.

Erik was a little nervous on opening night. He paced the floor.

"Don't worry, Erik, you'll do just fine," Meg told him, placing her hand on his shoulder, "I'm sure the Opera Ghost will be very pleased."

It was precisely the Opera Ghost that Erik was a little concerned about. He didn't want to get on its bad side due to all of the pranks that had been pulled on Carlotta, Piangi, and anyone else that didn't meet its expectations. Rumor had it that Piangi was going to be replaced very soon as well.

Suddenly, he was being shoved onto stage. Erik's musings ceased abruptly while the introduction to his song played. As his strong, clear baritone caressed the crowd, he thought he saw a flash of white in Box 5, but he wasn't sure.

Then, he saw something else that got his attention. A blonde-haired woman in Box 7 was smiling excitedly. He recognized her instantly...

The Vicomtess de Chagny! Erik's heart fluttered like a startled bird, but his voice didn't give away the tremors he felt. They had met as children when he'd rescued her scarf from the ocean. They'd once been best friends before Erik and his father had moved to France. He wondered if she even knew and remembered who he was.

The final notes were coming up and this would make or break him. They weren't terribly high, just in quick succession and difficult to nail sometimes. Erik even surprised himself when he got every note correct. The crowd burst into applause and people were even standing up for him. He bowed and left the stage. He smiled, knowing that his Angel would surely be pleased with him.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A/N: I pulled lyrics from two different versions of "Music of the Night". I didn't want to confuse you guys. In answer to the question of Erik and Christine's age, for the sake of this story, Erik is twenty and Christine is twenty-eight. She was sixteen when she first saw Erik. I figured her being a teenager would be great for the "moodiness". Some stuff is harder to gender-bend on than others, so forgive me if I get a couple of things out of character.

To galliechan: Yes, this is an Erik/Christine story.

To Lady STRiPES: I'm glad Raoul's female counterpart amused you. It's different to put Erik in

Christine's shoes. I didn't see a story like this, so I thought I'd write my own.

To Icecliff: I hope the author's note answered your question.

Thank you all very much for your reviews. I hope you'll stay with me as I continue to work on this.

Chapter 2

Regine's eyes opened wide. It was Erik! Oh, God, she hadn't seen him in years! When no one was around, she slipped quietly from her box and towards where she knew the dressing rooms to be. It was hard to be inconspicuous because of her pink dress with the large, fluffy skirt, but she somehow managed it.

_Drat Paris fashion!_ she thought irritably. The managers were bringing in flowers that the ladies had sent for Erik. She slipped past them and into the room. Erik sat at a dressing table and was scrubbing away the stage makeup.

"Erik," she breathed. Erik turned his head, then smiled.

"Regine! I was hoping it was you!"

The two friends embraced. Little did they know, there was another pair of dark eyes watching them.

"You sang like an angel tonight," she sighed, "I've never heard such a beautiful tenor. I hear that they're replacing La Carlotta and Piangi soon."

"May I tell you a secret, Regine?"

Regine sat down in the chair beside him. Erik held up a red rose with a black ribbon tied around the stem.

"Remember when Father would tell us stories of the Angel of Music and how he would send one to me once he was gone?"

Regine nodded.

"Well, Father has been dead for many years. And the Angel of Music has come, Regine. Oh, but you must think me mad to believe such a thing!"

Regine shook her head.

"I believe you. He would have been very proud of you, Erik. None of us ever dreamed you'd be the leading gentleman in 'Hannibal'! I do hope they give you more leading parts. Come now, my carriage will be here soon! We'll go to supper together!"

"I can't," Erik protested, "the Angel of Music is very strict. She'll be angry with me if I go without her permission."

Regine's smile froze a little. At first, the idea had been sweet. Now, she was just getting aggravated.

"The Angel can spare you one evening off, Erik. We haven't seen each other in years! We must catch up on old times! Don't worry, I shan't keep you out late! Be ready in five minutes!"

With that, she was gone.

_She doesn't understand,_ Erik thought, _she simply doesn't understand._

Quite suddenly, all of the candles blew out. Erik jumped a little; he felt the presence of his Angel. She often pulled tricks like that when she wasn't happy about something.

Christine was just behind the mirror and she was practically shaking with rage. How dare that spoiled little princess order HER Erik around? Who in the Hell did she think she was!

"_Insolent woman,_

_this slave of fashion_

_basking in your glory_

_Ignorant fawn,_

_this little creature,_

_sharing in my triumph!" _

The comb Erik had been holding just a second ago clattered to the floor. His Angel sounded very, very angry.

"_Angel, I hear you,_

_speak, I listen..._

_stay by my side,_

_guide me..._

_Angel, my soul_

_was weak,_

_forgive me..._

_enter at last, Master..._

Christine's anger was quickly replaced by a swell of pride and a dreamy smile filled her face. He wanted to know her. She'd heard him talking with Meg earlier about her. In his voice, there had been fear, respect, and curiosity. Maybe she'd denied him the pleasure of seeing her for too long. Ten years, after all, was entirely too much. At twenty-eight years old, she knew her time was getting short. Erik was old enough to see her now; his twentieth birthday had just passed, and yet, he remained innocent and childlike in many ways. She knew that was partly her doing because she tried to "keep him safe".

"_Flattering child, you shall know me,_

_see why in shadow I hide,_

_look at your face in the mirror,_

_I am there inside!"_

The mirror turned transparent, like glass. Erik stared in awe at the mirror, blinking a few times to make sure she was real. She was smaller than him, and much thinner, but she held authority in her appearance nonetheless. Her dress was a ghostly white and fitted closer to her body unlike the poufy dresses that most of the fashionable women wore. The sleeves were short and off the shoulder and she wore a pair of white gloves that came up to her elbows. Her dark curls cascaded softly onto her shoulders and she wore a white mask on the right side of her face.

"_Angel of music,_

_guide and guardian,_

_grant to me your glory,_

_Angel of music, _

_hide no longer!_

_Come to me,_

_strange angel!"_

Christine slid the mirror aside and mist poured out of the tunnel opening behind her. She extended her gloved hand to Erik.

"I am your angel of music! Come to the angel of music!"

Erik still seemed a little frightened. His face was very pale and his body was rigid. It was one thing to hear her talking through walls, but where would she take him?

Suddenly, a knock came, then the door rattled.

"Who's voice is that?! Who is that in there?!" Regine's voice yelled. She didn't seem pleased to hear a female voice coming from the room. Erik, however, was too entranced to notice.

"I am your angel of music! Come to the angel of music!" Christine called again.

Erik took her hand and he stepped through the mirror opening. The mirror slid shut behind him. For a fraction of a second, he wondered just what he had gotten himself into, but it didn't last long. Curiosity had gotten the better of him.

"_In sleep, she sang to me..._

_in dreams, she came..._

_that voice which calls to me,_

_and speaks my name..._

_and do I dream again..._

_for now I find..._

_the Phantom of the Opera_

_is there..._

_inside my mind..."_

Christine led him through the dark corridors lit with torches. It felt as though they were miles away from the surface. Golden arms holding candelabras turned aside for them to pass the narrower parts of the way. Erik was perspiring slightly from the humidity. Christine felt his nervousness even through her gloves. It would pass, however. She would be sure of that.

"_Sing once again with me..._

_our strange duet..._

_my power over you..._

_grows stronger yet..._

_and though you turn from me_

_to glance behind..._

_the Phantom of the opera_

_is there..._

_inside your mind..."_

Not wanting him to tire out, she gestured to her black horse, Cesar, and he swung up onto his back easily. Normally, Erik would have protested and insist that she be the one to ride the horse, but he was so under her spell that he couldn't string a coherent thought together to save his life. Christine didn't seem to mind the walk and led the horse down the winding path to the boat. Then, she stopped him and tied him to a nearby post. Erik slid down from the horse's back and she guided him towards the boat.

"_Those who have seen your face_

_draw back in fear..._

_I am the mask you wear..."_

Christine almost wanted to laugh at that comment.

"_It's me they hear!_

_My spirit and your voice_

_in one combine! _

_The Phantom of the Opera_

_is there..._

_inside your mind!"_

They reached the gate and Christine gave a hard tug on the lever to open it. Erik stared at her in surprise--she was very strong! He'd never seen a woman that strong before!

"Sing, my Angel!" she demanded, her voice slightly husky from the effort.

Erik's tenor filled the caverns, steadily escalating and getting stronger. They reached the shore just as his last note died away.

"Welcome to my humble home, Erik Destler," Christine said smoothly, helping him out of the boat, "I longed for the day that you would see me in person."

Erik swallowed hard. She still held his hand in hers and he was trembling like a leaf.

"I have but two rules," Christine said, leading him forward, "don't try to come down here by yourself or invite anyone else down here. There are dangerous traps everywhere to keep out intruders. Someone could easily be killed. Second, do not touch my mask."

"Why?" he couldn't help but ask.

Christine's eyes showed impatience.

"Just don't."

He nodded slowly, looking around. He was fascinated by the sheer volume of candles that flickered all around here. It was like something out of a fairytale. He felt a strange feeling within him. It was a dark feeling, but it felt so wonderful. He vaguely wondered if this was what "temptation" was. As he explored, Christine's voice softly began to well up through the cavern.

"_Nighttime sharpens,_

_heightens each sensation..._

_darkness stirs_

_and wakes imagination..._

_silently the senses_

_abandon their defenses..._

_helpless to the music_

_that I write,_

_for I compose the music of the night..."_

Erik studied the music sheets that lay on various surfaces filled with childlike writing. Even if her handwriting was relatively poor, he could see that she was a musical genius.

_Slowly, gently,_

_night unfurls its splendor_

_grasp it, sense it, _

_tremulous and tender..._

_turn your face away..._

_from the garish light of day..._

_turn your thoughts away_

_from cold, unfeeling light..._

_and listen to the music of the night..._

She eased Erik down into a nearby chair just as he was looking at her miniature models of the various opera sets. He noticed that there was a tiny him for every scene. There were also a lot of sketches of him.

"_Close your eyes_

_and surrender to your darkest dreams,_

_purge your thoughts _

_of the life you knew before..._

_close your eyes..._

_let your spirit start to soar..."_

Her soft soprano lilted through his ears easily unlike the voices of those above. It was smooth and cool, just like ice cream. Her hands rubbed his shoulders gently, then began to caress his face.

"_And you'll live as you've never lived before..."_

A strange heat welled up inside of him and it almost frightened him. He'd heard the other chorus men talk about this, but he never quite understood it. He couldn't help but lean into her touch. It was amazing...it was as though music itself were thrumming through his veins instead of blood.

"_Softly, deftly, music shall caress you,_

_hear it, feel it, _

_secretly possess you,_

_open up your mind,_

_let your fantasies unwind_

_in this darkness that you know_

_you cannot fight..._

_the darkness of the music of the night..."_

Erik mumbled something incoherent. He'd drank before, but this was far more intoxicating than any wine he'd ever tasted. He vaguely wondered what was behind that mask for a moment and why she lived down here in such a labyrinth. She was beautiful...why not try out for a singing job? She'd surely get the part with what he could see of her face. And that voice...oh, that voice!

_Let your mind start a journey_

_to a strange new world,_

_leave all thoughts _

_of the life you knew behind..._

_Close your eyes and let music set you_

_FREE!!_

_Only then...can you belong to me..._

She pulled him out of the chair and placed his hands so that they were in the dancing position for a waltz. Then, she slowly guided him around in a circle. He couldn't help but close his eyes and tune into only her touch, her voice. It didn't matter if she had a mortal body to him...she was still the Angel of Music. He could scarcely believe that his Angel of Music and the Opera Ghost were one in the same.

_Floating, falling..._

_sweet intoxication..._

_touch me, trust me..._

_savor each sensation..._

_let the dream begin,_

_let your darker side give in_

_to the power of the music_

_that I write..._

_the power of the music of the night..._

She led him to a small corner and parted the curtains there. There were two very lifelike mannequins, one looked like Christine and one looked like him. The Christine mannequin was wearing a bridal dress, veil, and jeweled mask. His mannequin was wearing a specially tailored suit made out of the finest fabric he'd ever seen. It was too much for him. She was planning to MARRY him?! Maybe it was exhaustion, shock, or a combination of those, but Erik very nearly passed out. She wrapped her arm around her waist to steady him and guided him to her bed.

_Oops. Too much for his nerves, I guess, _Christine thought. Erik was so tired and woozy that he didn't question or protest. Instead, he lay down without any coaxing and she removed his boots and covered him up. He lay on his side curled up in a little ball. She ran her fingers delicately over his cheek.

"You alone can make my song take flight..." she whispered, "help me make the music of the night..."

With that, she left him so that he could sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks so much to "newphan" for catching my time issue-- I'm a decent writer most of the time, but I'm terrible with math! Oops! Anyway, the space between Erik's coming to the Opera House and "present times" is 12 years, not any other time. Thanks to all my other lovely reviewers and I hope you keep going with this story!

P.S. Sorry this took forever.

Christine watched Erik sleep. Surrounded by the white gauzy curtains around her bed, he truly did look like an angel. He was perfect...

She sighed contentedly, pouring herself a glass of wine. She'd stashed it away a long time ago in case she ever felt the need to celebrate or calm her nerves. Sipping it, she sat down at the old church organ that she'd happened across one day. It had been her beloved instrument and constant companion since she'd polished it up. Her delicate hands began to dance softly over the keys. Normally, her melodies were dark, loud, and emotional. Tonight, however, she played a gentle, soft tune for Erik.

She smiled dreamily. Erik was down here with hers. She'd actually gotten to touch him. He was all hers, far away from that little snob of a rich girl. The Vicomtess could rot in Hell for all she cared! Christine would have to teach the little cupcake who was boss for certain.

Erik slept for a long time. The day/night's events must have really exhausted him. Christine wondered vaguely if showing herself had caused too much of an assault on his nerves. She certainly hoped not. She did have to push him to be his best, but she certainly didn't want to go beyond his personal limits. Her hands danced along the keys as she basked in the glow of her and Erik's great success.

Erik stirred. He felt as though he'd been sleeping forever. At first, he was very disoriented when he woke, rubbing his eyes. Slowly, he sat up and shook away the heaviness that comes with such a deep sleep.

It was like something out of a bizarre fairy-tale. There were candles all around him. There was a slight mist in the air, but he wasn't cold. Organ music was flowing from the other room. Slowly, his memory came back to him.

The Opera Ghost! He suddenly remembered her coming to him and leading him to this underground labyrinth from his dressing room. His stomach twitched awkwardly. What would he say to her? Surely she would think him a weakling for falling asleep so easily! Would she be angry? The music didn't sound angry. How long had she lived down here? What did she live on? Why was she suddenly a mere woman?

He stopped himself at that thought. The Opera Ghost was no mere woman. She knew how to cause plenty of trouble. There had been a couple of people that had disappeared in mysterious "accidents" after they'd disobeyed her orders. She could make the entire opera house shake with her very presence. He just could not adjust to the idea that she was, in fact, mortal like him. He was suddenly curious about this enchantress that was there.

Christine's back was turned to him as she played her organ. She felt Erik's presence behind her and closed her eyes blissfully as his hands began to stroke her face and neck. Never in her life had she ever felt such a sweet sensation! Christine was sure that she'd never felt such joy as this. She leaned into his touch, having craved this moment all of her life.

Erik was in a near-hypnotic state. His fingers traveled of their own accord and he was vaguely aware of her back brushing against his stomach. His hands stroked her shining chocolate curls, reveling at their softness. The slight scent of lavender clung to her body and he leaned in closer, drawn to this mysterious figure like a moth to a flame. His blood was thrumming quickly through his veins and his heart rate had increased to a frantic pace. For one glorious moment, Christine couldn't have been happier. She was so entranced by this angel behind her that she didn't feel his fingers brush her white porcelain mask. Then, as quickly as it had come, the moment was shattered. Erik's fingers slipped beneath the mask and slipped it off. For one moment, Christine was stunned. Then, she whipped around, knocking Erik backwards with such force that he fell backwards.

"Damn you! You slithering little snake in the grass! This is what you wanted to see!" she snarled, first looking in the mirror and looking at him.

Erik gasped. Christine was so furious that words he never thought he'd hear out of her mouth were coming in torrents. At that moment, though she was smaller than he was, she seemed to tower over him. The side of her face that wasn't injured was white with rage and shock.

She sighed wearily once her tirade was over and sank down into a chair in front of him, her hand covering the deformed side of her face. For one dreadful moment, he thought she was going to cry as the anger drained out of her face. The anger was replaced with an intense sadness. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"Angel, I'm sorry," Erik choked out, barely above a whisper. Her expression was so pained that it nearly broke his heart. Very, very carefully, he held out the mask with a trembling hand. She snatched it from him and put it back on, wiping her brimming eyes.

"I suppose I cannot blame you for a bit of childish curiosity," she mumbled, "I did not have much time to warn you. But don't let it happen again."

Erik nodded, his golden eyes very wide. Every little drip, candle gutter, and any other noise was magnified in the stifling silence. Christine quickly composed herself, brushing her curls back from her face with her delicately gloved hands.

"Come," she said, extending her hand, "I must return you. Those two fools that run my theater will be missing you."

Not wanting to upset her a second time, Erik obediently followed.

He watched her carefully as they made the journey up to her dressing room. She didn't seem to be angry at him anymore, but she did seem a bit more wary if his hands went anywhere near her face.

"You will speak of this to no one," she warned Erik, "it is our secret. I can make you the star of Paris, or I can make your life living Hell. I prefer to give you the best of everything."

He nodded as she stepped into the mirror hole. The door rattled and Erik went to say something to her, but she was gone when his eyes drifted back to the mirror.

The two managers burst through the door followed by Madame Giry.

"Where in the Hell have you been?" they demanded.

Erik just stared at them. He was still trying to process that he'd actually met his Angel of Music.

"Leave the poor boy alone," Madame Giry scolded them, "he's clearly been through a lot and needs his rest."

She shooed them out, but an irate Piangi barged in immediately afterward.

"What is the meaning of this?! I will not have this young whelp replacing me for the leading man!" he snarled, pointing his finger at Erik. With more force than Erik thought she was capable of, Madame Giry shoved him out.

"What was that all about?" Erik asked, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

"We have received notes from the Opera Ghost," Madame Giry explained, "he or she has insisted that you replace Piangi in the next opera. She insists that Piangi sounds like a bloated bullfrog and that you would do a much better job."

Erik was stunned. Piangi had the leading role right next to Carlotta!

"How do you know that the ghost is a she?" Erik asked, catching her slip.

Madame Giry was silent for a moment.

"You know her, don't you?" Erik asked.

Right at that moment, Meg came in.

"You're needed for rehearsals, Maman! La Sorelli got into a fight with one of the others!"

Madame Giry groaned. She touched Erik's shoulder.

"Get some rest," she told him, "you will have the day off although you are no longer one of the chorus boys. I will insist on your behalf. I must go deal with this problem."

With that, they took off.

Erik stretched out on his bed, but it took him forever to go to sleep. He was thinking about Christine.

The Opera Ghost had come to him like some supernatural dream. She had enchanted him with her own ethereal voice.

And yet, those things did not disturb him.

He had slipped his fingers beneath her mask. He had caressed her face, her hair, her shoulders. He had seen her hideous deformity beneath that pure white mask.

What bothered him was that she was merely human.

Something about this situation seemed most direly off. Try as he might, he couldn't figure it out.

There was a knock at the door. Erik didn't remember going to sleep, but he rubbed his eyes as he sat up.

Regine entered the room and pounced on Erik, hugging him fiercely.

"Oh, Erik! I'd heard that you were kidnapped by that horrible Opera Ghost! I'm so grateful that you're all right!"

Erik returned the hug gently.

"So, tell me, what did the terrible ghost do to you?" she demanded, her blue eyes blazing sparks.

He tried to smile, but it came out crooked.

"Nothing. I'm quite fine. She's actually not-"

He internally cursed himself with that little revelation.

"The Opera Ghost is a woman?!" Regine yelped, clutching her hands to the expensive pearls she wore.

"Please, Regine, don't tell anyone," Erik pleaded, "there's too much at stake."

Regine's pretty eyes narrowed as she stared down her nose at her reflection in the mirror. Smoothing the expensive purple silk dress that she wore, she did not look at Erik as she spoke.

"I've heard of some absurd things before, Erik, but never a female ghost haunting someone. It's simply not done, it's not ladylike at all. Men can get away with it, I suppose."

Little did Regine know, Christine was right behind the mirror and was stifling a laugh. Who did the little chit think she was, really?

Regine fluffed her perfect golden curls.

"I suppose she is just an old spinster who could never get a husband because of that horrid face of hers. But don't worry, Erik, dearest. I won't let her steal you away from me."

Erik looked at her, puzzled.

"We're just friends, Regine. Why do you talk as though we were more?"

The angelic-faced Vicomtess ventured closer to him.

"Think of it, Erik! You, the leading man of all of Paris! Me, one of the richest and most influential women there are! It makes perfect sense, does it not? Not only that, but you've grown into quite the gentleman over these years. Surely you can see that I've grown as well?"

Erik swallowed uneasily, a blush rising to his cheeks.

Behind the mirror, Christine's face had first gone pale, then hot red, and she was now shaking with anger.

"If it's a war you want, my lady, it's a war you'll get!"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry this took so darn long. I had a terrible case of writer's block and was very busy with college work and so forth. Christmas vacation finally gave me an opportunity to dust this off and start writing again. I've begun to deviate a little from the sequence of events, but I hope it's not too big of a deal. I also hope that none of you guys gave up on me! There's nothing worse than an unfinished story!  Please read and review, as usual!

The entire Opera House stopped what they were doing when an unearthly shriek pierced through the noise of rehearsals. A frightened Regine went tearing out of the box she'd been sitting in and she was ghostly white.

"A rat! In my box!" she wailed.

Rolling his eyes, one of the managers went up to the box to check.

"This was what frightened you?"

He held a single rat by its tail. It was squealing piteously and squirming. Regine backed away, trembling.

"Well, don't just stand there! Get it out of here!"

He sighed and walked away.

"Regine, are you all right? I heard screaming," Erik said, bounding gracefully off of the stage. She ran to him and hugged him tightly. Her arms tightened around Erik's waist and she buried her face in his shirt.

"It was awful, Erik, there was a dreadful rat in my box!"

Up above, Christine's laughter immediately went to a low growl. No one heard her, of course, but they could sense her presence.

"Regine, calm down," Erik pleaded, "it didn't bite you, did it?"

Regine acted as though she would faint.

"No, but it could have. It was in my chair. I almost sat on it!"

The chorus people and the ballet girls were chuckling behind them. Regine sent them an irritated stare with her bright blue eyes.

"It's not funny," she said flatly, "those dreadful things carry disease. One bite could kill you."

The chuckling only seemed to get worse. Regine's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Will you be all right now?" Erik asked cautiously. She sighed.

"I suppose so, but I am going to see to it that our rat-catcher doesn't let it happen again. Come with me."

Erik didn't budge from his spot.

"Regine, I need to stay here," he told her, "we've got a long way to go before we're prepared for the next opera and I have one of the biggest parts-"

"That's wonderful! I always knew you could do it!" she squealed, pouncing on him with a fierce hug.

Erik tried to squirm out of her grasp.

"The Opera Ghost is watching," he hissed in her ear, "she'll be angry if I leave. She demands only my best and fullest effort."

Regine batted her eyelashes at him.

"Erik, you can't expect me to believe a silly ghost story. I'm sure that your creepy little angel won't begrudge you a small break."

She moved to drag him away again, but Erik wormed his way out of her grasp and got back onto the stage. Up above, Christine nodded in approval, although she was still shaking with anger at Regine having touched Erik.

"That's right, little one, run away before your pretty little dress gets ruined," she growled.

She was proud of Erik, however, and reminded herself to compliment him on it later. Erik, of course, was flawless, but many of the other chorus members needed work. A few of the woodwind instruments had been off and the stagehands were drunk again. She quickly scribbled a note to the managers and dropped it to them before going off to make preparations of her own.

The night of the new opera did not go as she expected.

"Erik Destler will play the silent role," the managers decided, "and Piangi will have the lead."

They also put other customers into Box 5. When Christine appeared above everyone else, she was furious.

"I will show them not to fool with me!"

The first thing she did was put a mild poison in Piangi's throat-spray. It wouldn't make his health suffer too much, but it would make him croak like the fat toad he was.

Piangi was singing loud and terribly when his voice suddenly went "CROAK!" The crowd burst into peals of laughter. He cleared his throat and tried again. After having it happen a second time, he ran off the stage. Christine had an amused smile. The managers came onto the stage and asked the crowd to please wait a moment and that Erik would be coming back on as the lead. The ballet girls rushed onto the stage to fill the time.

"That's better," she mumbled to herself.

Then, she went back up into the rafters. It was time to clear out her spot. In the biggest, most intimidating voice, she said "I told you that Box Five was to be kept empty! You have been warned!"

The crowd gasped and looked around, but they couldn't see her. Gathering the skirts of her black dress, Christine went back towards the stage. One of the stage-hands had been following her and she'd had enough of it. She ran back towards him and he started to run away. Joseph Bouquet was the biggest pain in the butt she'd ever met. She decided it was time to get rid of him. Grabbing hold of his shirt, she pushed him off the rafters. He fell down onto the stage amidst all the twirling white skirts.

Suddenly, all Hell broke loose. The ballet girls screamed and ran off the stage. The crowd surged out of the opera house. The managers begged them to stay still, but they wouldn't. Christine's oddly musical laughter filled the air.

"See what happens when you don't obey me?" she called.

Erik grabbed Regine's hand.

"We have to get out of here," he panted, "she'll never stop this madness. She has eyes everywhere. The very walls quiver with her dark presence."

For once, Regine was oddly calm. She took the red rose with the black ribbon out of his hand. It was, she knew, the Phantom's way of telling Erik she was there.

"Erik, dear, why don't you move out of this horrid place? You seem to have not known a moment's peace since you've come here."

Erik found it odd that she was the one trying to comfort him. Out here on the roof, the cold air slowly calmed his nerves.

"She's everywhere," he breathed heavily, "she'll be very angry with me if she finds me up here with you."

"You said yourself she was only a woman," Regine reminded him. Her delicate fingers traced his features. His golden eyes closed for a moment, taking in her touch.

"Don't fret, dear Erik. I'm here."

Despite his raw nerves from the disaster on the stage, Erik felt little butterflies rising up in his stomach. Why had he never realized just how beautiful Regine was? The moonlight shone on her features, making her look like an angel. Her blue eyes seemed to reflect the silvery light and her curls seemed so much softer.

"_No more talk of darkness,_

_forget these wide-eyed fears..._

_I'm here, right here beside you_

_my words will warm and calm you..._

_let me be your freedom..._

_let daylight dry your tears..._

_you're safe, no one will find you_

_your fears are far behind you..."_

Erik's pounding heartbeat slowed to a gentle flutter. His hand slipped into his pocket. It hadn't been easy to get a ring without the Phantom finding out, but he had. He had intended it simply as a gift for Regine, but now, he realized it could mean more.

"_Say you'll love me every waking moment,_

_turn my head with talk of summertime..._

_say you'll need me with you now and always..._

_promise me that all you say is true..._

_love me, that's all I ask of you..._

He slid the ring onto her finger and she leaned in for a kiss. Little did they know, Christine was there on the roof with them. Regine tossed the rose aside carelessly and the kiss deepened.

"_Anywhere you go, let me go too..._(Erik sang)

_Love me, that's all I ask of you..._

"We should go back," he said uneasily, "the others will be looking for us. And the Phantom will notice surely that I have gone."

"Erik, listen to me," Regine begged, "you have to move out. Come and stay with me. She's too dangerous for me to let you stay here."

"Regine, I would love to, but I can't," Erik said, "she's been with me since I was a child, watching over me and protecting me. She's almost like the mother I never had."

"Her feelings for you are unhealthy, Erik," Regine reminded him, "and I won't stand for it any longer. She's been trying to frighten me out of my wits, but I've had enough. I would strangle that Opera Ghost myself if I could get my hands on her."

Christine stepped out from behind the statue.

"By all means," she said, her voice shaking with anger and tears, "don't let me stop you!"

Regine started to step forward, but Erik caught her by the arm.

"Regine, don't!"

Regine pulled out of his grip.

"What's the matter, Madame Opera Ghost? Have you run out of parlor tricks and games to capture Erik's heart? Step aside! Face your fate, woman! You will never have his heart the way I will!"

Christine's anger overcame her sadness.

"Not with you in the way, certainly not."

She reached around and grabbed Regine's hand. She pulled the ring off and tossed it into the snow. Regine lunged at her, but Christine was too quick. Erik tried to get between them, but he was knocked out of the way.

"Stop your games, little one! I have twice as much money as you'll ever have and I have _music_. You could never give him what I could! I made him the star of Paris and you? You're just a pretty face."

A sharp slap made Erik cringe. Regine had not put enough force behind it to hurt Christine, but Christine's mask had flown off. Regine immediately went pale and had to swallow the bile rising in her throat.

"Good God!" she gasped.

Christine grabbed the front of Regine's dress and pulled her closer.

"Take a good look, my girl, it will be the last face you shall ever see!" she hissed in a low, sinister voice. Erik was horrified to see that Christine's firm grip was all that held Regine on the edge of the building.

Regine's heart was pounding very hard. She stared into Christine's dark eyes. The side of her face that was injured was either stretched so thin that it was almost transparent or raised in deep, ridged scars. The coloring ranged anywhere from gray to dark red. No wonder she wore the mask.

"Have you no mercy?!" she cried.

"Life has shown no mercy for me," Christine growled.

"Please, wait!" Erik pleaded.

"Why?" Christine demanded.

Erik swallowed hard, knowing full well he was condemning himself.

"If you truly love me the way you say you do," he choked out, "you will let her leave unharmed."

"Why should I spare her when she constantly makes a nuisance of herself?" Christine snarled.

"Because," Erik said, venturing closer, "I am asking you to."

Christine dragged Regine away from the edge. Regine was pale and trembling, looking as though she would faint any second.

"Do not take my favors lightly, Erik," she said icily, "you have tried my patience with your little tryst."

Erik bowed his head. He felt like a child being scolded for running away from home.

"And you!" Christine turned to Regine, who was trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"If you speak of this to anyone, I will find you and cut your heart out! Is that clear?"

Regine nodded, swallowing hard. Christine released her, letting her fall into the snow.

"Escort her out if you wish, but I expect you in your room in no more than twenty minutes," Christine snapped to Erik. With a rustle of skirts and a swish of her cape, she was gone. They did not see where she went.

"What a horrid woman!" Regine gasped. Erik quietly took her hand.

"I love you, Regine, but I think it's best if we do not see each other for a while," he whispered, "her temper is too great. If she says she'll do something, she always does."

"I won't give up, Erik," Regine said in a sudden show of courage, "she cannot stop me from loving you. I would do anything for you."

Erik's heart began to swell with love for this woman. Apparently, there was much more to her than any of them could ever guess.

"And I, for you, my lady," Erik said, embracing her, "that's why I cannot allow you to be hurt by a misguided love."

He helped her into her carriage.

"Come on," Regine begged, "get in! She cannot stop us with so many watching!"

Erik shook his head.

"I cannot. It's much too much of a risk. I'll see you soon."

He gave her a last kiss goodbye and wondered vaguely if it would be the last he ever saw of the Vicomtess de Chagny.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Christine's thoughts were a turmoil as she watched the Vicomtess leave. She almost felt sickened at what she'd nearly done...true, she wanted Regine away from Erik. But would she actually be willing to kill her? She'd killed Bouquet easily, yes, but she wondered, deep down, if she'd truly wanted him to die. She sucked in a deep, deep breath to try and calm herself. She was shaking with fury at Regine. Angry tears poured down her face. She paused, taking her mask off to sponge them away with the sleeve of her dress. She could feel her hold over Erik's heart slipping through her nimble fingers.

A noise caused her to nearly jump out of her skin. She slipped back into the shadows, holding her breath.

Erik rounded the next corner. He was white as a sheet; maybe he'd encountered one of her traps.

"Angel? Phantom? Whatever name you preferred to be called? Are you down here?"

She stepped behind him, silent as a ghost. In her most stern voice, she said, "it would be wise of you not to come down here by yourself."

Erik nearly dropped the candle he was carrying. He clutched his hand to his chest, looking at her with wide eyes.

"I...I was just..."

She waited silently.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked meekly, finally choking it out.

Christine stood as straight as she could.

"No. I am not. You are, though the greatest singer in Paris, still just a man. Like any other man, you make mistakes. I simply do not wish for you to make costly ones."

She grabbed his arm and began to steer him through the tunnels.

"We must get you someplace warm. It is cold and drafty down here, perfect conditions for wrecking your vocal cords. We can't have that."

Despite her stern manner, Erik could sense that she really did care about him. Despite the fact that she frightened him a great deal of the time, there was an odd sense of comfort with her. It was a strange combination.

Erik was panting slightly by the time they reached her underground home, but Christine's breath did not elevate in the slightest. Even with the tightly laced corset that she wore, she seemed to be in excellent shape for a woman. He noticed that they went a different way this time, bypassing the canoe ride. There must have been a few different ways inside.

"Angel, I have been meaning to ask you something," Erik said timidly.

She stopped to unlock a door with a large skeleton key.

"What is it, Erik?"

She sounded slightly annoyed.

"Do you have a name?" he asked, bracing himself for another one of her temper spells.

But she stayed composed. She steered him inside and locked the door behind him.

"I have many names," she said, sounding as though she'd answered this question many times. Erik decided he was entering dangerous territory and said nothing else. She steered him into a little kitchen area and began getting things out for hot tea.

"The Phantom, the Opera Ghost, the Spirit, the Shadow, Angel of Music, by far the most flattering, I might add..."

She filled the kettle with water and got two cups out of the cupboard.

"I suppose if you must have a name, you may call me Christine," she said, setting them on the counter, "but that is NOT to be repeated to anyone, understood?"

Erik nodded.

Christine turned towards him. He saw many things in his angel tonight that surprised him: he saw exhaustion, sadness, and anxiety.

"I know that you think I've been rather hard on you all these years," she said, gentleness beginning to enter her smooth, dark voice, "but you and I both know it's for your own good. You've come much farther than I'd have ever predicted."

Coming from her, it was the greatest compliment he'd ever received.

"Th-thank you!" he stuttered.

The beginnings of a smile played on her lips as the kettle began to whistle. She poured the steaming cups of tea and passed one to him. They sat together at the table in silence for a long time.

Christine couldn't believe that he'd come down here by himself. The feelings of tenderness coursing through her veins surprised her: never had she felt this way for anyone! Just knowing that he truly cared what she thought made her feel wonderful.

"I also wondered..." Erik started to say timidly, but he trailed off. Christine looked at him questioningly, waiting for him to continue.

"Are you planning for us to be married?" he finished, his voice abnormally high-pitched.

Christine flushed deep red under the mask. She'd known the question would come up sooner or later.

"Well, of course, darling. You didn't think I would guide you to the top just to leave you there on your own?"

Erik's insides froze.

"I would never do that to you," she said in a whisper, "I would never leave you."

Her hand stretched across the table to touch his. Erik felt so strange in that moment. He was beginning to shake. Even with her glove, her hand felt as hot as fire to him.

"But," she sighed, "that's still a long way off. We have too much work to do to be worried about this."

_But I do not love you that way..._he thought, _I love Regine that way..._

Seeing his thoughts reflected in his golden eyes, her hand slipped around to cup his cheek.

"Erik, darling, she'll be no good for you. A pretty face and money...that's all she has to offer you. I am no beauty to be sure, but my voice will last forever. You and I...the best singer and the best composer in Paris..."

The dreamy look on her face did not escape him. Erik stayed perfectly silent.

"Don't be nervous, my love."

Her fingers caressed his face. Despite knowing it was completely wrong, her touch was intoxicating. It was deliciously..._sinful._ Regine's touch never made him feel like this.

"Come," Christine said, getting up, "it is your bedtime and I don't want you being too tired for tomorrow. There will be another showing, love, and you must keep in good health."

She led him upstairs.

Erik wondered how on earth it was that she could entrance him with just a touch or the sound of her voice. She absolutely frightened him at times...maybe it was the combination of fear and excitement that made him feel so intoxicated.

They stepped through his mirror into the room. Christine let him enter first, then followed.

"Good night, Erik."

She stepped back through the mirror and away she went.

Erik tried to go to sleep, but he could not. He was far too restless from the night's disastrous events. The image of Christine holding Regine over the edge of the roof positively frightened him. How could he marry a woman like that? He hated the spell that she seemed to hold over him. She was frightening at times...

He finally drifted into a fitful sleep and woke up exhausted at dawn.

Everyone was on edge at that night's performance. Erik was the lead role, as promised, and Christine did not show herself. The customary red rose with the black ribbon was left in his dressing room, but she was silent other than that. Erik glanced up at Box Five, knowing full well that she was there. He was unable to see her in the dark. Regine was in Box Seven, however, and she gave him a reassuring smile. He felt relieved to see her again. It looked as though Christine had decided to leave her alone.

After the performance, Erik quietly walked over to see her. They did not dare kiss or do anything further than letting their hands graze each other occasionally. Erik could sense Christine's eyes on him, so he was very quiet that evening. Regine insisted on Erik to come with her, but he flat out refused, his eyes pleading her to let the subject drop. She did, knowing what he was thinking.

"Good night, Erik," she said sadly, getting into the carriage.

"Good night, Regine," he said, feeling slightly choked up.

He watched it disappear down the street and went inside. He went straight to his room, changed into his night-clothes, and paced a little bit.

"Christine, I'm tired of this! I want to marry Regine! I love her, does that mean nothing to you!? I feel your eyes on me! I know you're there! If you were half the woman I thought you were, you would let us be!"

A pair of hands seized him from behind, frightening him. With a superhuman force, he found himself slung over onto the bed. Christine's face was inches above his, contorted in fury.

"You will NOT marry her! I have spoken and that is what will be! I do not wish to, Erik, but I can make your life a living Hell!"

The flames danced in her dark eyes.

"I can take her away from you very easily, you know," Christine said, her voice low and dangerous, "and you know that I won't hurt you. But if I have to take her out of this world to keep her from...distracting you, I will."

"You're bluffing!" Erik said weakly.

"Aren't I? Recognize this?"

She pulled a diamond necklace out of her bodice. Erik recognized it as Regine's very first diamond necklace from when she was a child. He knew that she kept it under her pillow...she'd whispered that to him as they'd been reminiscing one day.

"What did you do to her?!" Erik asked nervously.

"Oh, don't worry. I haven't done anything to her...yet."

Erik tried to grab her, but she slipped out of his grasp and held both of his hands. Her grip was iron-tight and he could not get loose.

"Are you finished with your games, Erik, or shall I have to make the next move?" she asked.

Not sure exactly what she had planned for Regine, Erik's muscles went limp.

"Good," she said coolly, letting him go, "now we understand each other. It's not healthy to rebel, Erik. You would, as the others say, be biting the hand that feeds you. Now, go to bed. All this excitement isn't good for your nerves."

She waited, hands on her hips, to see if he would.

He did. She tucked the covers around him, kissed him on the forehead, and left.

It was then that Erik realized that Angel's--Christine's affections for him were unhealthy and dangerous.

He needed to escape, but he wasn't sure how.

He lay still all night long, but sleep never came. As the light became bluish-gray, he rose and got dressed. He needed answers. Not sure exactly where to find them, he wandered outside. The driver who was tending the wagon was wrapped up so thickly that he couldn't even see his face.

"To the cemetery," he sighed.

Despite his father having died miles away, arrangements were made for him to be buried in Paris. The cold was bitter and sharp. Erik shivered slightly despite his coat, scarf, gloves, and cloak. The snow was beginning to fall again.

His thoughts were swirling around just like the flakes. What was he going to do? It seemed as though he was never going to escape her. It was scary how fast his Angel of Music had turned into a monster.

The wagon slowed when they reached the cemetery. Erik told the driver where his father's grave was and the wagon driver dropped him off, then left to give him some privacy. Erik had an odd feeling about that person, but he dismissed it.

"What will I do, father? She follows me everywhere. She is not the angel I prayed for," Erik whispered, "she is dangerous. She has gone mad! I do wish you were here to help me..."

Tears filled his eyes. He'd missed his father plenty of times, but he missed him even more right now.

"You were once my one companion...

you were all that mattered...

you were once my friend and father...

then my world was shattered...

wishing you were somehow here again...

wishing you were somehow near...

sometimes it seemed

if I just dreamed...

somehow you would appear..."

He was unaware of the shadow in the distance. Beneath the carriage-driver's hood, a patch of white glinted.

"Where's Erik?" Regine demanded. She was getting tired of this whole Opera Ghost nonsense.

"Gone," Meg said reluctantly, "I believe he said something last night of going to visit his father's grave."

Regine's eyes widened.

"Come on, Meg! We've got to save him!"

"Save him...from what?" Meg asked as Regine pulled her along.

"Himself! Now come on!"

"Regine, what are you doing?" Meg demanded as she grabbed a sword.

"I'm rather tired of always being the lady," Regine said as they ran out to the stables, "Erik's been the only thing in my entire life I've had to work hard for! She can't take him away from me! If she can be that unladylike, so can I! Have you ever heard that saying 'Hell hath no fury like a woman'? It's time to show her!"

Regine was actually quite scared, but she would never admit that. There were two horses already saddled up. Poor Meg in her ballet costume wasn't dressed for the cold or riding, but she didn't dare complain. She was afraid for Erik, too.

_"Wishing I could hear your voice again..._

_knowing that I never would..._

_dreaming of you _

_won't help me to do..._

_all that you dreamed I could...._

_Passing bells and sculpted angels_

_cold and monumental..._

_seem for you the wrong companions..._

_you were warm and gentle..."_

Erik began to wander around as the snow started to fall again. His sigh came out as a misty cloud.

_"Too many years_

_fighting back tears..._

_why can't the past just die?_

_Wishing you were somehow here again..._

_knowing we must say goodbye..._

_try to forgive, teach me to live..._

_give me the strength to try..._

_no more memories, no more silent tears,_

_no more gazing across wasted years..._

_help me to say goodbye..."_

He closed his eyes for a moment, listening. It was so quiet for a moment that he could hear the soft landing of snowflakes falling onto the drifts. He could hear his own breath whooshing in and out of his lungs. He could hear his own heartbeat, loud in his ears.

He dearly wished his father were here right now. His father would always know what to say at a time like this.

Regine had been his childhood friend. He knew Regine. She had not changed much over the years. Sure, she could be a little shallow at times, but having to deal with the opera house had made her mature a lot in a very short amount of time. He felt alive and warm when he was with her.

Christine, on the other hand, was dark and mysterious. She rarely complimented him on anything, but he also knew that she didn't hand them out cheaply. She knew everything he was capable of and made sure he met those expectations with flying colors. She was ominous, passionate, and she excited him, although she also made him quite nervous at times. He loved her and respected her, but he was sure that it wasn't in a romantic way.

"I am your angel of music..." the haunting voice called, "come to the angel of music...."

The nearby mausoleum suddenly was filled with golden light. Hypnotized, Erik ventured towards it. His fair cheeks were reddening from exposure to the cold and his golden eyes glinted with a feverish light. His dark brown hair was mussed from the wind.

"I am your angel of music..." the voice chanted again, "come to the angel of music..."

He took a couple of steps forward, but the sound of hoof beats broke the spell. He turned his head to see Meg and Regine riding in on a dapple gray horse.

"Erik, don't! She's not an angel, Erik! She's the phantom!"

Regine swung off of the horse. Unused to such a gesture, she plopped on her behind upon landing. Springing up, she ran to Erik, Meg just behind her.

"We must get back, Erik," Regine said breathlessly, "you've got to come with me."

Erik swallowed uneasily.

Out of nowhere, a blur knocked Regine away from Erik.

"Damn you! Must you always be in the way?!" Regine snapped. She brandished the sword that she'd been holding across her lap during the ride.

Christine raised an eyebrow.

"You are not a threat, silly girl. I could slice you in half quite easily."

She drew her own sword. Erik's jaw fell open. What kind of a world was this where women fought just as savagely as the men?

The two swords began to clank together. Christine definitely had the upper hand when it came to agility and grace, but Regine had the advantage of raw anger. Unfortunately, it was a curse as well as a blessing. She didn't watch Christine carefully enough and earned a nasty gash on her forearm. Christine, however, wasn't watching carefully either. She slipped on a bit of ice and went down. Regine stood over her, sword pointed at her exposed throat. Both women were panting heavily.

"I've had enough of this nonsense," Regine snarled, "if you would have just stayed out of the way, this wouldn't have happened!"

She was getting ready to slice open Christine's throat when Erik grabbed her from behind.

"Regine, no! Not like this," he pleaded.

Despite all the Hell that Christine had put him through, he couldn't bear to watch Christine die like this.

Still glaring at Christine, Regine withdrew the sword.

"Come on, Erik. We're moving you out of that dreadful Opera House right now."

Erik swung up onto the horse's back after both women were on there. It was a rather tight fit with all three of them, but they managed it. Christine glared after them, her eyes full of dark fire.

"Very well," she hissed, "let it be war on both of you."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I haven't given up on this story, I just want to do some major reconstruction on it. I started off really good, but then I started running out of ideas and copied the movie a little too much. Please bear with me here. I may actually take this down and totally restart it.


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